Starlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 1)

by Fergus O'Connell

  Bill had come round the back of the car and had his arms out to tackle Lewis. His burly figure seemed huge in the darkness. Lewis knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the tackle and once he was caught, he wouldn’t be able to break free. But just then the driver’s door swung open again and Robert collapsed onto the ground groaning. In the gloom, Lewis saw Bill hesitate for an instant, unsure of whether to catch Lewis or go to Robert’s assistance.

  ‘Help your brother,’ said Lewis.

  Bill hesitated further. It was only for a fraction of a second but it was enough time for Lewis to sidestep him.

  ‘Fucking bastard,’ he heard Bill say.

  Then Lewis was past him and running as though his life depended on it. He was terrified that Bill would follow him but as Lewis lengthened his stride, he realised there were no footsteps pursuing him. He dared not look back for fear of losing speed, so he just kept on going.

  There was no sign of Helen in the laneway. Lewis reached the bottom and turned right. Now he was running along the road that led from Fowey to Readymoney. The beach and the sea were over on his left and he saw that there were three boats drawn up on the beach. Amongst them he saw Helen.

  40

  It really was like a Boy’s Own adventure after that. They pushed a boat from the beach out into the water and jumped aboard. Taking an oar each they began to pull the boat away from the shore. Lewis remembered once on holidays having tried to row and not being able to master the coordination involved. This time, he had no problem. The blades of the oars bit into the water at just the right angle. They pulled back strongly and together and soon there was clear water between them and the beach. Away from the land there was a small breeze and it was enough for them to raise the sail.

  Suddenly the boat began to rock. Lewis wondered what it was – it couldn’t be a wave. The wind was only a light breeze and the sea had only the tiniest swell.

  ‘Lewis?’

  Helen was calling him.

  ‘Lewis, are you awake?’

  He opened his eyes.

  Helen was sitting on the edge of his bed in the cottage. The room was in darkness but he could see her silhouette. He frowned in confusion.

  ‘Lewis?’ she said again.

  ‘I was dreaming,’ he said at length.

  ‘I dreamt that your husband … that we had to escape. It was like Treasure Island – the pirates at the “Admiral Benbow”.’

  Lewis was still befuddled by sleep.

  ‘Is he here? Downstairs?’

  ‘No, don’t be silly. Of course he’s not here. He’s staying in Fowey tonight and then his leave is over. He’s going back to France tomorrow.’

  Lewis sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He rested his back against the headboard. He was awake now.

  ‘So what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘We never got to dinner. As soon as we left here, he asked me to come back. Now. Tonight. It was very upsetting.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said I couldn’t. That I hoped we could always be friends.’

  It wasn’t what Lewis wanted to hear. He wanted the man gone from their lives.

  ‘Did you tell him you wanted to divorce him?’

  He saw her eyes look away.

  ‘He asked me to leave it until the War is over. He said that if something happened to him that there would be no need for it then. Save a lot of expenses, he said. It made sense.’

  ‘But you said he had a staff job. It’s unlikely that anything would happen to him.’

  ‘I’m going to leave it until after the War,’ she said with finality. ‘Please don’t ask me about it again.’

  Her hands were in her lap. Lewis reached out in the darkness and found them. She let him take one and hold it. They were both silent for a long time. Lewis was unsure what to say. Then Helen spoke.

  ‘He said that he loved me still. That he would always love me. I told him he’d find somebody else, that there were plenty more fish in the sea.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘That he could never imagine himself loving anybody else. That he wouldn’t want to. He was near to tears a lot of the time – and actually started crying once. He asked me if I knew that it’s possible for a heart to be broken. I said I did and he said that his was. It was very difficult.’

  ‘And what were you saying to him?’

  ‘Not a lot really. I was mainly listening. There were several times when I nearly crumbled. It would have been so easy. I felt so sorry for him. He may be a soldier but he’s not a strong man. I hope he’ll be alright.’

  ‘You couldn’t go back to him just because you were sorry for him. That wouldn’t be love.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘And it’s not your job to make him happy.’

  He saw her nodding in the darkness.

  ‘I know that too. It’s just that – well, I used to love him one time. You remember how it was, how you felt. The feeling that life was just glorious, that everything was perfect, that nothing bad could happen. How I used to long for the next time that we would meet. He would write me letters – passionate letters.’

  Lewis found it hard to imagine the hooded crow being passionate.

  ‘How did you get back?’

  ‘He has a car. He had left it in Fowey. He drove me.’

  ‘What time is it anyway?’ asked Lewis, looking at his watch.

  ‘After one.’

  ‘Did you only just get back?’

  ‘No, I’ve been back since about eleven. We got to the point where there wasn’t anything more to say. I was downstairs. Outside.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Looking at the stars? Listening to the sea.’

  ‘You should have called me. I’m sorry I fell asleep.’

  ‘It was better that I was by myself. I needed time to think. To get it all out of my system. To make sure that I was making the right decision.’

  ‘And are you?’ said Lewis anxiously.

  She paused and it was a while before she answered.

  ‘I think so. Who knows about these things? Yes. I think I am. I hope I am.’

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ said Lewis. As he said it, he thought the sentiment sounded weak. Unhelpful. Pointless. He wished he could have thought of something wise or profound to say.

  At length Helen said, ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get to bed and let you go back to sleep.’

  He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to keep her here. To talk with her all night. To ask her into his bed. To spend the night in bed with her. After she had spoken she didn’t move. It was like she was waiting for something. Or maybe thinking about something.

  ‘Alright, well, good night then, Lewis.’

  She leaned forward to kiss him.

  Her lips met his but instead of the brief kiss he had been used to, he thought she pressed them against his. He responded instantly and they pushed their lips against each other till it actually hurt. He felt her tongue and as he opened his mouth, she slipped it in. Again he responded, mimicking what she had done. She moved closer to him and her arms embraced him, low around his back. He held her and stroked her hair.

  Eventually they pulled apart. He looked into her eyes but in the darkness it was hard to tell what he saw there. Fear? Love? Desire? They kissed again. When they separated the second time, Lewis said, ‘Would you like to stay with me tonight?’

  ‘Here – in my bed,’ he added.

  She didn’t say anything.

  Instead, she slowly took off the cardigan she had been wearing. Then she sat up straight and her breasts pushed up and forward. To Lewis it was as though she was offering them to him. She looked into his eyes while, with shaking hands, he unbuttoned her blouse. She wore a white brassiere underneath and he could see her breasts heavy against its fabric. She stood up and undid the skirt at one side. She wiggled her hips as she pushed it down. Then it fell and she stepped out of it before kicking it backwards with her foot. She wore stockings b
eneath her knickers and placing first one foot and then the other on the bed she unclasped them, rolled them down and removed them. Lewis stared in wonderment. He couldn’t believe that this was happening to him.

  She lifted the bedclothes and slipped in beside him. The last time he had been in a bed with someone else it had been his mother. Helen’s long legs stretched down the bed and lay against his. The night air had made her body cool.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not,’ she said, cuddling up to him and wrapping herself around him.

  Her breath smelt of toothpaste. He could smell her hair and the faint smell of the perfume she had put on earlier. Shem-el-Nessim. The Scent of Araby. He stroked her arms and, putting an arm around her, caressed her back. He touched her face, outlining her eyebrows, the bones underneath her eyes, her nose, her lips. He kissed her eyes.

  ‘I can’t believe how beautiful you are,’ he said.

  ‘Take this off,’ she said, pushing her breasts forward to indicate the brassiere.

  He reached behind her, found the clasp and undid it in one movement with one hand.

  ‘That was very expertly done,’ she said with laughter in her voice. ‘Are you sure you haven’t done this before?’

  ‘With you? While you were asleep?’ he joked.

  ‘No, not with me, you fool. With somebody else? Some other lucky lady.’

  He was suddenly serious.

  ‘No, you know this is my first time, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I know,’ she said. ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘Beginner’s luck,’ he said, and she laughed.

  He lifted the brassiere away from her breasts. It caught for a moment and then the breasts slipped out.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘These are for you.’

  He took one in each hand as though weighing them and then kissed the nipples tenderly.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ he said.

  ‘They’re yours,’ she whispered.

  He stroked first one cheek and then the other against the nipples. He felt them become erect and go hard.

  She reached down and touched his erection which was like a steel bar in his underpants. She stroked her hand gently up and down it, rubbing the fabric against it. Spasms of pleasure like little electrical charges darted through his body. Then she hooked a hand into the waistband of his underpants and said, ‘Take these off’. It was an order, or at least she made it sound like that, and he obeyed.

  He lifted his bottom, pushed them down and got one foot out. Then he used that foot to remove them completely and push them away. They disappeared somewhere in the bedclothes. She took hold of his penis and pushed down the foreskin. It was a tiny dart of pain and a huge surge of pleasure. He thought he would die it was so nice. He thought he was going to climax and was afraid that it would go all over her hand, but just then she stopped.

  Lifting her bottom he felt her take off her own knickers. She was naked now beneath the bedclothes. They both were. She lay on her back.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ she whispered.

  She spread out the fingers of his hand and placed it palm down on the curve of her belly, beneath her navel. Then she slowly guided it down until he felt the silky hair.

  ‘This is the naming of the parts,’ she said softly.

  He felt her spread her legs. Then she took his middle finger and slid it into her. She was warm and wet.

  ‘Push it in as far as it will go,’ she said.

  He did as he was told.

  ‘What can you feel?’

  ‘You. Your insides. It’s all beautiful and wet.’

  ‘Now bring your finger out gently and slide it up towards the front. Do you feel a sort of an upside down ‘V’ there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The word came out sounding more like a breath rather than an actual word.

  ‘That’s my clitoris. It’s like a foreskin. Touch it and I’ll explode.’

  He stroked it gently with a series of slow up-strokes. She closed her eyes and sighed each time he touched it.

  ‘I want to see it,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want me to light the lamp?’

  ‘No, just the candle.’

  She reached back and found the box of matches. It rattled as she took one out and lit the candle that stood in its little metal holder on the bedside table. She lifted back a large triangle of bedclothes and he slid down the bed. His legs went out the end as he gazed on her open thighs. He kissed each thigh in turn and then the tuft of hair at the top. Then he kissed down the line of her vulva. He smelt its fragrance – her real perfume. The Scent of Helen, he thought to himself with a smile. He took the lips gently with each of his thumbs, parted them and began to lap at her clitoris with his tongue.

  ‘Oh, Lewis,’ she groaned.

  ‘My goddess,’ he whispered. ‘I adore you.’

  Her breathing became heavier, and she uttered little whimpers form time to time.

  ‘Please – don’t stop,’ she said.

  He didn’t but continued to lick upwards with his tongue. The strokes were slow and deliberate. Her clitoris seemed to move with every stroke and it became like a game trying to centre his tongue on the ‘V’.

  She was groaning louder now and breathing hard. She was saying things but they were not really words – just little sounds. Then she began to buck and he licked faster, but then slowed down again suddenly. It was too much and she started shaking, vibrating, moaning loudly. Her thighs quivered like bowstrings. He licked her slowly, ever so slowly. He had no idea how long this went on but finally she clamped her thighs together. He tried to push them apart again with his hands but it was as though they had been glued together.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘More.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No more.’

  ‘Yes more.’

  ‘No. No more. Are you trying to kill me?’

  He slid back up beside her, her taste and fragrance still on his lips and in his nose. He held her and she began to laugh softly. Her hair was damp and splashed across her face. She pushed it back with her hand.

  ‘Dear sweet Jesus,’ she said. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’

  ‘I didn’t learn,’ he said in all seriousness. ‘I’d never done anything like that before. You know this.’

  She opened her eyes.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘Beginner’s luck?’

  He laughed.

  ‘Maybe.’

  She shook her head, her hair tangled across her face, laughing all the while.

  Lewis rolled onto his back. The candle flickered. He pulled the bedclothes up around them to keep out the night chill.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ she said at length. ‘But now, what are we going to do about this?’

  She reached down and found his erection again.

  ‘Come on, my love,’ she said. ‘It’s your turn now.’

  Later he entered her as she lay on her back with her legs apart and her knees up. He was wild with desire for her. Her skin, her hair, her smell, the feeling of being inside her. His penis rubbed against her lips as it pumped in and out, sending shattering tremors of pleasure through his body. He had never known anything like it. Finally he climaxed and collapsed onto her. She held him and he realised he was crying. She rocked him gently as she embraced him with her arms and her legs, uttering soft, soothing noises as one would to a baby.

  ‘I love you, Helen,’ he whispered.

  41

  Lewis fell into a deep sleep and it was late when he awoke the next day. As he opened his eyes he was glad to see that she was still there beside him, lying on her side and looking at him.

  ‘Hello,’ he said sleepily.

  ‘Hello yourself,’ she said. ‘You slept well.’

  ‘I did. It must have been the sleeping draught you gave me.’

  ‘It was nothing like the one you gave me.’

  She paused.

  ‘You know I’ve only slept with one other man,�
�� she said. ‘But I’ve never known anything like that. Are you sure you haven’t had a string of lovers?’

  She looked deadly serious.

  ‘No, honest, I haven’t. I just … well, I did what I wanted to do – what I’ve wanted to do ever since I met you. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of doing that – of being down there. It’s like it’s the essence of you – of all women, I suppose. I just hoped it would be nice.’

  Her face was laughing.

  ‘Nice would be one word you could use,’ she said. ‘You’re a very dirty boy, do you know that? And I mean very dirty.’

  ‘My father was at sea,’ he said, as though that explained everything.

  A grey light filled the room and there was rain on the window.

  ‘A day for staying in bed,’ she said.

  ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course I’m serious. Do you have a better idea?’

  He shook his head.

  He lifted the bedclothes and looked at her. The heavy breasts, the curve of her flank, her triangle of hair, her long legs.

  ‘Reclining nude,’ he said.

  He was hard again.

  ‘Greek god,’ she retorted.

  He slid across the bed and kissed her. He realised that he would never be able get enough of her body. He wanted to kiss every inch of it; to stroke it, to touch it, to explore the hidden parts of it.

  ‘I love you, Helen. Will you marry me?’

  ‘Whoa, just a minute there, young lad. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m already married.’

  ‘But you’re going to divorce him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m going to divorce him,’ she said mechanically.